"I don't see why he shouldn't be pleasant," said Mrs. Lapham.
"He's never done anything else."
Lapham looked up consciously, with an uneasy laugh.
"Pshaw, Persis! you never forget anything?"
"Oh, I've got more than that to remember. I suppose you
asked him to ride after the mare?"
"Well," said Lapham, reddening guiltily, "he said he
was afraid of a good horse."
"Then, of course, you hadn't asked him." Mrs. Lapham
crocheted in silence, and her husband leaned back
in his chair and smoked.
At last he said, "I'm going to push that house forward.
They're loafing on it. There's no reason why we shouldn't
be in it by Thanksgiving. I don't believe in moving in
the dead of winter."
"We can wait till spring. We're very comfortable in the
old place," answered his wife. Then she broke out on him:
"What are you in such a hurry to get into that house
for? Do you want to invite the Coreys to a house-warming?"
Lapham looked at her without speaking.
"Don't you suppose I can see through you I declare,
Silas Lapham, if I didn't know different, I should say
you were about the biggest fool! Don't you know ANYthing?
Don't you know that it wouldn't do to ask those people
to our house before they've asked us to theirs? They'd
laugh in our faces!"
"I don't believe they'd laugh in our faces.
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